


don't wake me yet

by transtlanticism



Category: Virals Series - Kathy Reichs
Genre: F/M, M/M, i have the most TENTATIVE of outlines for this, technically canon compliant, this is gonna be fun to write and that's about it, this is not going to be a great work of literature
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 09:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transtlanticism/pseuds/transtlanticism
Summary: A dessert run near Folly Beach leads to the pack accidentally catching the murder of Marcus Karsten's brother in the act, and they try to figure out why Karsten's siblings are suddenly taking an unusual interest in his old parvovirus research. Meanwhile, a mind-meld mishap leaves them scrambling to figure out how to save Tory and remove her consciousness from where it's stuck in the back of Shelton's mind.





	don't wake me yet

TORY

I’m staring at an empty gravel lot.

“Damn it, Hi!” Ben throws the car into reverse and flings his arm around the back of my seat, startling me out of a drowsy state. It’s almost 10 PM, a Friday night in late September, and Hi’s decided to drag us all to a new discovery of his—a milkshake place on Folly Beach with, according to Hi, the _best goddamn milkshakes we’ll ever have in our sad lives._ “This is a dead end!”

“What do I look like, a human GPS?” Hi fires back. “You’re supposed to turn left here.” 

Ben gestures to the expanse of ocean to our left. “By all means, go right ahead.” 

“Um, guys,” Shelton says mildly. “Is ice cream really worth the hassle of going to get it?”

“Yes,” Hi insists. “It’s not just ice cream, Shelton, it’s milkshakes, and they close in half an hour. This stupid GPS wants me to go left.”

Ben begins driving back the way we came. “Try again. Unless you’re looking for a seaweed shake.”

“That almost sounds better than this monstrosity.” Shelton shoves his phone between the seats at me, loaded to the home page of our destination. The image featured is a bright pink shake topped with whipped cream, various rainbow breakfast cereals, an enormous hunk of cotton candy, and an entire donut encircling the bendy straw protruding from the drink. 

“Hiram,” I say, staring at it, “this is death in a glass.”

Hi scoffs. “I think you mean _life_ in a glass.” 

Ben takes his eyes off the road long enough to glance at the vivid picture. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m wasting gas looking for this fairytale nightmare beverage?”

“This will change your life,” Hi promises. “You may want to leave Tory and marry this milkshake.”

Shelton frowns at Hi. “Don’t even think of leaving me for some melted ice cream. That is not how we’re going to break up. I refuse to have to tell that story in whatever fucked-up icebreakers I’ll be roped into in college.” 

“First of all, call it melted ice cream one more time and I will definitely leave you. Secondly, this will change your life, too.” Hi squints out the windshield. “Left up here.” 

Ben wheels into a parking lot. “Here?”

“Yes!” 

As Ben locates a parking spot, Shelton shoves his phone into his pocket. “Why is this place lit like a freaking disco? There are neon pink lights everywhere.” 

“That’s not the spirit of the revolution,” Hi says primly. “Get hyped! It’s milkshake time!” 

Twenty minutes later, we’ve crammed four stools around a table meant for about two and a half people, and Ben and I are staring at the milkshake in front of us. The entire thing is encrusted in chocolate and M&Ms and there’s an entire ice cream sandwich poking out of it, along with whipped cream and various candies encircling it. Shelton and Hi are splitting their own, something that looks like a giant toffee bar with an entire lollipop balanced on the pile of whipped cream. 

“You first,” Ben decides. “If you have a heart attack, I’ll call 911, I promise.”

“Touching.” I slide the drink towards me and hesitantly take a sip. The first taste is pure sugar, but it’s the perfect consistency and temperature, and…it actually tastes fairly good. The second sip is even better. 

Ben’s watching me carefully. “Do I need to alert the paramedics?”

I raise both eyebrows and shake my head. “I have to hand it to Hi, actually. It’s a good—”

_BANG._

The four of us instantly jump, turning on our stools to see what made the noise. No one else has moved, however, seeming not even to have noticed anything amiss.

“You guys…heard that, right?” Shelton asks. “I’m not losing it?”

Ben’s head swivels between me and Hi. “Your eyes are bright blue, geniuses. We have extrasensory hearing, remember?”

“So whatever that was, it was outside.” I hop off of my stool. “Let’s check it out.”

Three dubious looks.

“What?” 

“Tory, come on.” Shelton stirs his milkshake. “We don’t have to investigate every single thing that goes thump in the night. Someone probably dropped something heavy. Or a car backfired down the street."  

“That sounded like a gun, actually,” Hi says hesitantly. “Not that I’m the expert. But we’ve all been shot at a lot.” He gives Shelton a level look. “Even you. You should know this." 

“I do,” Shelton grumbles. “I just don’t want to find out. We can’t even go get dessert without Tory dragging us all into something.”

My palms fly up. “We just possibly heard a gunshot! You’re not at all curious?”

“Fine.” Shelton throws his napkin down. “But if we all die, this is on you.”

“Always is,” I remind him. 

Abandoning the drinks, we slip out the back door. There’s an alley behind the building, lit by moonlight and a distant street lamp a block away. A normal person wouldn’t be able to see anything but shadows. 

Luckily, we have enhanced vision for that. And Hi, our best eyes.

_What do you see?_ I ask. 

Hi squints. _There’s someone standing near the end of the alley. Come on._

_Great,_ Shelton says. _We’re going to confront an unknown person in a dark alley in Charleston at night. Because we think we heard them shoot someone. That sit comfortably with anyone else?_

_Quit it,_ Ben says. _We can take anyone, gun or not._

_Ben and Shelton, circle the building,_ I say. _Hi and I will take this side of the alley._ I don’t want the person to run off before we know anything. 

But even as the guys begin to split, the person bolts down the alley, away from us. 

“Crap!” Ben sprints after them, the rest of us in rapid pursuit. We’re almost at the end of the alley when Hi suddenly yells and grabs my arm.

“What?” I hiss.

“Jesus Christ, Tory!” He points to the ground, right by my feet—and that’s when I smell it. The blood. 

Bullet wound. Dead body.

For a fleeting second, my mind scrambles as my eyes zero in on the corpse.

_I recognize him!_

But as I aim my phone flashlight at the face, the recognition fades to disappointment. I don’t know him. But there’s something eerily familiar about his features. The nose. The shape of his eyes. 

“Ben,” I say, turning to face the boys. “We’re gonna need that 911 call.”

“On it.” Ben pulls out his phone, but Hi snags his wrist. 

“Are we sure we wanna do that?” he says. “Don’t we think there’s a slight possibility that if Ben doesn’t get the hell out of here, pronto, the cops are gonna treat him like suspect numero uno?” 

“He’s right,” Shelton says. “I’ll call. Ben, you should bail. Take Hi with you. Go pull your car out of sight and wait for us to call you.”

“Why me?” Hi protests. 

“Because if Captain Crazy sees three of us, he’ll think that Ben is around,” Shelton replies. “Plus, you’re really good at unnecessarily pissing people off. Just get Ben out of here. Victoria Brennan, what in the fresh hell are you _doing_?” 

I’m squatting by the body, light shining on his face. “Doesn’t he look like someone we know? I can’t put my finger on who.”

Hi and Ben disappear around the corner, and Shelton frowns. “You’re right,” he admits. “I don’t know him, but there’s something about him…is he famous? A friend of one of our parents? An LIRI employee?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” I say. “Call the cops.”

… 

The police arrive in full ceremony, led by the dullest knife in the drawer himself, Captain Carmine Corcoran. Not having known in advance who made the call, his eyes fall on Shelton and me, and he looks furious. And tired.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demands. “Will I never have finished with you law-flouting children?”

“Captain, we’re reporting a murder,” I say innocently. “Would you rather we not have?”

He scowls. “Just stay out of the way. And where are those other boys?”

“They’re not with us,” Shelton jumps in. “Tory and I were getting milkshakes down the street and we heard something, so we thought we’d check it out.” 

Corcoran bristles. “Insolent,” he mutters. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

One of the officers approaches. “We found a wallet,” he reports. “And a phone displaying a Google Maps route to that place around the corner with the giant milkshakes.”

“Giant milkshakes, hmm?” Corcoran rounds on us, but turns back to the officer, apparently thinking better of accusing us of murder. “What’s his name?”

“Arlen Karsten.” 

My vision shrinks. Shelton seizes my arm to hold me up. 

“Karsten?” he repeats, voice forcibly calm. “Like Marcus Karsten?” 

“Next of kin is listed as a Juliette Karsten,” the officer says. “I’ll give her a call.”

The name rings familiar. “That’s Karsten’s sister,” I say. “I saw her at the memorial. Arlen must be his brother.”

_And the face, Tory,_ Shelton says. _They have the same face._

_Jesus._

Corcoran turns back to us, suddenly remembering we’re still kicking around. “Scram,” he orders. “The last thing I need is for you four kids to be involved in another murder.”

“Two, Captain,” Shelton says lightly. 

“Go home,” he says, effectively dismissing us. “Stay out of my hair for once.”

“But—” I start.

“Come on, Tory.” Shelton snags my wrist. “Let’s leave this one to the professionals.”

As soon as we round the corner, Shelton breaks into a sprint, and I follow. We’re gasping both from shock and exertion by the time we reach the parking lot. 

I wrench the door open and we tumble into the backseat, not bothering to put up a fight about Hi riding shotgun. “Let’s go,” Shelton orders. “Now.” 

“What the hell was that?” Ben demands.

“Karsten,” I manage, still trying to catch my breath.

Ben slams on the brakes. Hi screeches, “WHAT?” 

“Not Marcus Karsten,” Shelton says. “His _brother._ Arlen Karsten. That’s who we just found dead in an alley.”

“Since when does Karsten have a brother?” Ben hits the gas again, aiming the car towards Morris. 

“Since always, I guess!” I reach for my seatbelt. “He has a sister, too. Juliette. We saw her at the memorial, remember?”

“ _I_ remember,” Hi says. “Remember, I said she was the one who didn’t actually look that sad?”

“That’s true.” I forgot about that. “She’s Arlen’s emergency contact.” 

No one knows quite what to say as Ben pulls onto the Morris bridge. 

“Anyway,” Hi finally says, “was that really worth leaving the milkshakes behind?”  

“Hi!” Three of us, in unison.

“We found a dead body!” Shelton explodes. “And, worse, Tory saw it! You _know_ what happens when Tory sees a dead body!”

“We called the cops this time,” Ben reminds me. “No way to get involved without them knowing it’s us.”

“Shelton called the cops,” I correct. “And it looks suspicious. I mean…” I switch to our mental channel, despite the car having only the four of us. _Karsten_ _’_ _s brother? You know I—_

_—don_ _’_ _t believe in coincidence,_ they all drone.

_Well, yeah. I didn_ _’_ _t even know Karsten_ had _a brother. What if he knew something?_

_Doesn_ _’_ _t matter now,_ Shelton says brusquely. _He_ _’_ _s dead, Tor._

_What if he was looking for us?_

_What if he was just out for a late-night snack?_ Ben counters, aggressively pressing the gas. _We don_ _’_ _t know, Tory!_

_Karsten didn_ _’_ _t tell anyone about his research,_ Hi points out carefully. _There_ _’_ _s no evidence Arlen even knows who we are._

_Then why is he dead?_ I say. _And who killed him?_

Silence. 

_We need to check it out,_ I decide.

_Goddamn it,_ Shelton says. _I told y_ _’_ _all. I been knew._

Hi elbows him. _We all been knew. Come on, tell me you haven_ _’_ _t missed committing a few felonies._

Shelton looks him dead in the eye. _I have not missed committing a few felonies._

“No felonies tonight,” I say. “Tonight, we do some Googling. Find out everything there is to know about Arlen Karsten.” 

“Fine,” Shelton says. “But I’m just putting this on the record now: I require a majority vote before we commit any felonies. At _all._ ” 

Hi snorts. “Keep dreaming. This has never been a democracy.”


End file.
